Out of the Game
by dib07
Summary: Contains Zim angst. Story vent. Dib decides to pay Zim a visit. It is his last visit.


**_Disclaimer: I do not own IZ. Neither do I make a profit. I write this out of my own time._**

 ** _Warnings: Angst_**

 ** _No Romantic Pairings_**

 **A/N:** Hi all. The idea for this story was changed three times, and the original idea was completely different from this final version. And I like this version much better.

As for my little voting system on my profile page, I think I'll hold off uploading anymore Invader Zim for now. The community for IZ has seemed to have died on here, and well, everywhere and I don't think my stories will get any reception. I will be writing it, but I won't be uploading it on here. If however I do get the need to do some venting, you might get the occasional one shot, like this one. And yes: this was purely a vent. Sorry Zim.

* * *

An Invader Zim oneshot

Out of the Game

25.11.16

 **xxx**

' _ **There's a lover in the story  
But the story's still the same  
There's a lullaby for suffering  
And a paradox to blame.'**_

 _ **Leonard Cohen – You Want it Darker**_

 _ **xxx**_

Dib stared at the front door.

He found that he did this a lot when he came this way. Just stood, and stared. Was it fascination? Was it contempt? Or was it something unfounded, something... basic? Like a childish desire?

Whatever it was, it drew him to this same place, day after day.

Night after night.

It was like his kick, his injection. It was fun, it was dangerous.

The adults didn't feel relaxed until they went home and checked their emails after work. To Dib, just seeing Zim was his fix.

 _Gotta see what he's conniving next. Gotta be ready when it happens._

Sometimes he got the courage to go one step further, and knock on the purple door. Or he'd feel extra brave, and try and force his way in: scooting to the back door perhaps to find an alternative way inside, or just pressing up with his hand on the window to see if its hinges would loosen.

Not all the time he was rewarded. In fact, Zim was uncannily meticulous when it came to 'security' even though the tiny Irken had to fight against the mindset of his insane SIR unit and his own notorious carelessness. It was fear of the outside world that kept Zim locked in. And Dib added to this fuel.

It wasn't so bad when they were in school. But as the years rolled on by, and the seasons wept, Zim became more of a 'shut in.'

Dib wasn't so easily tricked. Zim had been quiet lately, but only because the alien was up to some new mad plot, scheme or plan. The Irken's ideas, though endless, were often imprudent and a little fickle. It was hard for the human to stay on his toes all the time, when the next thing Zim could whisk out could actually be the very thing that would successfully doom the world.

Dib was used to the notion of being a one-man-army. He wasn't afraid of Zim; never had been. But it was the Irken's plots and devices that kept him on edge. Mostly because there was always that one good day where Zim DID actually manage to make something evil that worked.

But today, and yesterday, and the day before that, and maybe even the day before that, Zim had been unusually... quiet. This was not normal unless it was a rainy season. Ordinarily, Dib could not help but bump into him, especially during the long, golden days of summer when the Irken would be walking Gir, or surveying the town for any telltale weaknesses. And even if Zim wasn't in the mood to leave his twisted facade of a house, he would at least answer the door to satisfy Dib with threats, curses and spite.

This time the sun was up, the clouds rolled on by without the slightest shade of dampness, and the wind was warm.

Dib rose his hand towards the door. He wasn't afraid of Zim, but every time he came here, every time he arrived on the 'welcome' mat before the surveillance of the ugly gnomes, he got that hapless feeling of anxiety. Like going to school on the first day after the weekend, or going up on stage to recite a poem. It was that kind of nervousness and no other.

He was mentally preparing himself for Zim, never knowing quite what he'd find.

Dib, staring at the purple door, drawing in a breath as if it was on his prom night, knocked once.

Twice.

Three times.

Each knock was a heavy rasp that was unmistakable and noted his presence loudly.

He took a step back, sure Zim would come running, and fling that door open to set red eyes upon him. Dib even balled his hands to fists in readiness for the confrontation that was almost a predicable cliché between them.

The door _did_ open: almost stiffly. There was no swift commotion, no reverberation of Irken curses.

Gir looked up from within, all snug in his doggie costume. "Hellloooo." He said happily.

Dib pondered for a moment. This event did not set him back. Gir had opened the door for him numerous times, and he was no stranger to this perplexing, bizarre alien servant. "Is Zim in?"

"Oh, least I think so." Gir said. His words likened to that of Lewis' Carroll's 'Alice in Wonderland.' You never quite knew when to take him seriously, ever. And whether his words were meant to be deciphered into some hidden meaning, or not. "There's been lots of parties!" He continued jovially. "You missed all the fun! But not tow-rory, there's still some piggy left over!"

"Right." It had been Gir's first sentence, and already he felt drunk just listening to the thing. "Can I come in, and well... talk to Zim?"

"Sure thing! Maybe he's upset he missed the party too!"

Dib was welcomed inside, and he walked in, stiff with apprehension. He was in Zim's territory now, and he would no longer be safeguarded by the public eye now that he was behind solid walls. Gir swung the door shut, and the human felt the first wave of claustrophobia.

Gir then launched himself on the sofa with a plate of nachos, and continued watching a program on TV. There was no one else around. The parlour was actually quite clean and neat, with none of the usual mess incurred by keeping a mad robot. Usually there was the token Styrofoam cup, a bag of peanuts, or spilled soda.

"Zim?" Dib asked.

"Oh?" Gir barely gave him a glance. He was utterly absorbed into the commercials that were selling some kind of cream paste.

Dib shrugged and walked past him, heading for the kitchen. He half expected Zim to jump on him at any moment from every corner. He knew how much the Irken resented his very smell, let alone anything else about him. Even the mere thought of Dib leaving skin cells was enough to enrage the invader.

But the human wasn't challenged. He had the upper floor of the house pretty much to himself.

This wasn't like Zim at all.

No way.

By now his security defences should have alerted him to Dib's invasion. Unless the Irken was awaiting him down below, like a spider nestled in its web for the wandering fly. Such a trap was a big possibility. Zim was not coy with his games, and though he was fickle, and demanding, he could also be quite cruel.

Dib thought about leaving. It wasn't worth the risk, was it? Zim was probably just being Zim, and working on some mad contraption or other, like robotic weasels, hybrid cyborg snakes or some new super weapon. Zim was a hard worker, and often overlooked the time.

Dib stood by the toilet. He wanted to go down there. The urge ached inside, like some primal impulse. He had been down there before, mostly uninvited of course. Sometimes Zim didn't even seem to appear to notice, as if he was so lost in his own thoughts that even his computer failed to squeeze a response out of him.

Then, Dib doubted.

This doubt seemed to grow as he aged. It was not an emotion he had wanted or asked for, but still it strengthened as he grew. It never used to be such a problem when he was a kid. He was reckless when he was younger, and impulsive. Now he was becoming a wary adult.

"Why am I even here?" He turned to go back. Zim was like a cockroach, surfacing only when he bloody well pleased. And Dib wasn't about to activate some ambush just so that the Irken could settle a score from way back.

But something stopped him. Gir was looking at him from the arms of the sofa, as if hoping Dib would go down and look for his Master. Then the robot in his doggie uniform went back to watching TV.

Dib frowned.

Could Zim be doing something down there that was extra secret?

 _Ah, fuck it._ If he had got this far without being impeded, he decided to risk his luck and try going even further.

He stepped into the toilet. It was an unsettling experience that he hated. And as he had grown, this little secret tunnel to the catacombs down below seemed to shrink, making access that much harder for him and his gangly self.

One leg in. Then two legs in.

He sorta stood there like an imbecile, two feet in the toilet. Then at last it started sucking him down, almost with reluctance. He felt himself being pulled, and for a terrible moment he felt a surge of panic.

 _I'm gonna get stuck! I'm so gonna get stuck!_

He could already imagine Zim crowing with triumph when he'd find his rival half in and half out of the toilet.

But, that terrible thought was brushed away when he felt himself sliding down, down down through the tunnel like a gopher slipping down its hole. As he slipped, the daylight outside was replaced by artificial lighting that was tainted a glossy, almost eye-watering pink. And it was so much warmer down here, like he had just entered the mist of someone's hot bathroom.

The elevator under his feet slid to the bottom level, and he stepped out, glad to be free. Now he was in a new warren of tubes, wires and ducts that made him feel as though he was lodged in someone's intestines. Even the elaborate garish pink hue made it all seem so... fleshy. Tubes glistened with sweat from water vapour or condensation.

The warmth was on a whole new level. Dib felt overly hot already, and he had come only wearing long black pants, a shirt and a jacket. Taking the jacket off and slinging it over his arm, he walked deeper inside.

"Zim?" He called.

Zim had always been a heat-loving creature. And he was especially moody when the weather turned wintry.

"Zim!"

 _Stupid to call._ He knew.

 _Just paint a bullseye target on the back of your head why don't you?_

 _Let Zim know exactly where you are when you're deep in his den._

 _He could kill you right here, right now, and your family would never know. I'd just straight-up disappear._

But he called anyway, hoping not to surprise the Irken and showing him that he had no intention of hiding.

Zim might be in an affable mood, or a murderous one. You could never tell until you saw him.

A small door slid aside for him, and he entered, feeling that childhood guilt of being somewhere he shouldn't be.

"Zim? I just want to talk. No tricks, honest." He even showed his hands in a weak display of surrender should the Irken be watching through his many, many monitors.

He listened, expecting some derisive reply in the shadows ahead, or from the intercom.

All was just too... silent.

The floor sloped down a little, and he walked on a little more reluctantly now. He had never gone so far, so deep without some kind of blockade or resistance.

He kept turning round, expecting something nightmarish to be stalking him. But all there was to see was an endless corridor snaking behind him.

The room before him was a huge, elaborate computer room littered with mainframe surveillance screens. Across from them was a tall, rubber wall that reached the low ceiling. Imbedded in the wall were various, differing lengths of spears. Some had fallen short of their target, and lay scattered at the floor of the rubber partition, while others were wedged deep. The ones that lay loosely on the floor looked horrifically sharp. Their points bled crystal pink in the gloom.

 _Target practice?_

It certainly looked like it.

Something small was sitting not far from this rubbery wall. It was slumped, and wasn't moving. As Dib got closer, he recognised the soft green skin and low, red eyes.

It was Zim.

And he was just... sitting there.

Wasn't the Irken invader about to spring to his feet and yell and scowl at him? Demand that he leave?

But Zim did not rise to the occasion. He merely looked up from where he slouched, and even so much as smiled. It wasn't a narcissistic smile, or one filled with toothy malice. It was almost friendly in a way that Dib had never seen before. It unnerved him more than any evil smirk could.

"Oh, hullo Dib worm." He said candidly. There was no smugness there. None of the patented hate.

"Zim?" He said in surprise, because he didn't know what else to say.

"Yes. Who else would it be?"

Then he noticed that Zim was holding his lower abdomen, where the stomach would be for a human. It was hard to tell in the ugly pink lighting, but he was pretty sure that around those claws was a lot of liquid green. And he could smell it, as if it had been left to flow for some time. It smelt like old autumn leaves after the rain.

"Are you... are you hurt?" He stupidly whispered as if he was worried about being overheard.

He resisted getting any closer. Zim might react violently, seeing his approach as provocation. Injured wolves that were cornered reacted in similar, aggressive ways.

But he was wrong in this. Zim was being... unnaturally calm.

"Heh, yes. Had quite the accident, wouldn't you say?" Zim almost looked as though he was welcomed the conversation, and was not in fact fairing any worse than normal. "I knew you'd come. Can't resist stuffing your little nose in here. So obvious Gir would let you slip in."

Dib was perplexed. "What happened?"

"Had an accident." He repeated, stubbornly not elaborating.

Dib took a shy step closer, almost sensing that Zim would uncoil from his position and strike at him. But this was no trick.

Dib edged even closer, and what he saw dissolved any lasting fear that this was a trick. There was real blood. He could see it now as his eyes adjusted to the low gloom. It had pooled onto the floor, and there were places where it had smudged, as if Zim had dragged himself across the floor to get to where he was now.

Something metallic. Silver – shone from between Zim's claws. The Dib realized it was in the same shape and form of the spears embedded in the rubber wall beside him.

Dib stood there, just staring.

His mind was unravelling.

 _I always wanted to hurt Zim, even as a child. In fact there were so many times I just wanted him to go away: to die, get eaten. Or just pack up and leave Earth. He made my life so miserable, so many times. I even wished at Christmas that he'd get hit by a car, or melt beneath the rain._

Now, as he stood staring, he felt real close to achieving this childish wish.

And he suddenly felt conflicted.

Zim gestured lazily at the rubber wall to his left with one claw, while the other held his abdomen. He seemed disturbed at Dib's silence, and so he decided of his own accord to explain.

"I was launching these new torpedoes. I wanted to see how nicely they'd slice through human meat. They were pretty good too. You should have seen the way they flew!" He paused and Dib wondered if he that was the end of the conversation, but then Zim let rip a chesty cough, and Dib saw blood fly out between his lips. Zim struggled to get his breath back, but, after a pause, he mustered the energy to say, "Best quality Irken metal. I just miscalculated is all. When the computer launched them, a few of them bounced."

"Miscalculated?"

"Heh, yeah. I seem to be doing it a lot lately."

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"Don't be silly. If I don't move, I'm more or less fine, Dib beast."

Dib, on his own accord, moved until he was kneeling beside the tiny Irken. Zim had remained small and dainty, while Dib had grown tall.

"Can I see?" Dib asked. He still expected the alien to slash at him, or bite him. He was close enough to be in range. But Zim did not take the bait. He honestly looked pale, in a pale green kind of way. And yes, Dib was curious: curious to see what a wound on an Irken would look like.

Zim shook his head. "I don't need your stinkin' help!" His snarl produced a drop of dark green blood to drip down from the corner of his mouth. To Dib it reminded him of lime juice. Only darker. And its consistency was heavier. "Now... now go back home and work your crazy plans to stop me! Off with you. And don't touch anything on the way out. I'll know about it if you do!"

It hurt Dib to see Zim in this way. And the Irken, in his cool, desultory manner, was either pretending the harm done was less serious than it was, or else he was already in shock, and knew not the full extent of the damage. Either Zim's mysterious PAK was 'fighting' to heal this injury, or he needed external aid. To Dib, the PAK was still the most mysterious part about the Irken, as Zim had been wise never to share any information on it.

"I've got to do something!" Dib stated at last. Sure, finding Zim like this had been what he had wanted as a kid. But for his rival to be in great discomfort... This wasn't how he imagined things. Wanting an enemy to suffer a long, drawn out agony was a desire saved for the psychos, even if Zim was still trying to 'conquer' the Earth.

"Why should you have to?" He answered. His claret eyes shimmered up at his, his long antennae flat against his head.

"Because, Zim, I can't leave you like this!"

"I'll be fine." He choked up more blood. He caught it with his other claw, but the fluid sluiced straight through his hooked fingers. "Now, go away." And he flicked his hand at him, shooing him like he was some bothersome fly.

"How long have you sat here for, thinking that you're fine?" Dib asked, thinking for a moment at how much he sounded like a parent.

"Why are you concerned what happens to me anyway?" His antennae flickered forwards for a moment before curling back again. "You're so stupid!"

"Yeah. As you keep saying. But look who's on the floor with a shaft of metal in his insides."

Zim growled. It was a surprisingly hostile sound. But it was purely all bark and no bite.

Dib sighed. Stubborn Zim.

He reached forwards without invitation and put his hand around the cold, silver tip, and started to draw it out.

Zim shrieked. It was an inhuman sound that made Dib retract his hand before he had even begun to pull it out. "Stop it! Stop it, please..."

Dib leant away, watching Zim curl up tighter, new emerald blood lining his lower teeth.

It was in deep. And was wedged in firmer than he originally believed.

"S-Stupid human." The Irken gasped angrily.

"You're not gonna let me help you, are you?"

Zim, losing the fight to remain conscious, tried to smirk. "Invaders never..."

"Ask for help. I know." He ended for him. Zim only stared, then slowly nodded. "Looks like I have a long wait ahead of me then."

Zim blinked. "Yes. Yes you do."

So Dib got comfortable, while he waited for nature to take its course. He supposed he was a little sad, but really, his emotions would come later, when all was said and done. Zim was an era of his childhood; his coming of age. And that era was drawing to a rapid close.

Dib realized that mortality was their greatest enemy. That, and the passage of time.

"You gonna sit here, all night?" Zim coughed.

"Yeah. Even a heartless bastard like you shouldn't die alone."

Zim muttered: "Stupid human."


End file.
